


Loss and Found

by floof



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Grief/Mourning, M/M, Returning from the Dead, not actually dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 14:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floof/pseuds/floof
Summary: Bull can't be gone. He just... can't be. Dorian refuses to accept it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shae_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shae_C/gifts).



> Minor Sera/Dagna and Josie/Adaar, but not enough to warrant a tag. Also, a bit to do with Krem being trans but not a lot and it shouldn't be triggery but ya never know.

“How're you holding up, Sparkler?”

Dorian's absolutely fine, and he wishes people would stop asking him that. If he's any sort of negative emotion, it's annoyed.

Everyone from Cassandra down to Vivienne has asked him. Each in their own little ways, some more comforting than others. Not that Dorian needs comforting, because he is absolutely fine.

Because this isn't real, isn't happening.

_“Dorian... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”_

It was just last week, maybe. That he was in the courtyard, not waiting to catch sight of the returning party. He just happened to be there. Not that his whereabouts last week matter, as everything is perfectly, absolutely alright.

He's not sure why he was in the courtyard last week, anyway. He certainly wasn't waiting for Bull to come back. Because he never waits for Bull to return, because what they had- what they have, what they **have** , isn't that sort of thing. It's just sex. Just two bodies, getting off together.

So he might've found his way down to there whenever the Lady Inquisitor left him behind, which wasn't often, as he and that brute made... **make** up most of her preferred traveling party. Sera or Vivienne usually take the fourth spot on the roster, and each of them give Dorian a different headache.

In fact he'd only done it the first time because of a headache. Fresh air does a body good, his mother always said. If scouts had spotted the Inquisitors party coming back, well, that had been a coincidence. The courtyard's as good a place to get fresh air as any.

_“I... I'm just, I'm sorry.”_

It was also a coincidence the second time it happened, as well as the third. Just like it was a coincidence it happened last week, when... nothing happened.

_“Whatever for, my dear?” He looks behind Miya's girth, slighter than his lov- his somethings own build, but still considerable. He doesn't see Bull._

_All Dorian can see is Vivienne, skirts torn and stained with mud. Even her signature hat looks tired, if such a thing is possible. She doesn't seem to care, only looks at him with pity in her eyes._

_Solas has his arms crossed over his chest, and he's biting his lip, like he can't make up his mind what to say._

_Miya's still apologizing, kneeling down to grip him in a loose hug. Over and over, the words “Sorry” and “I'm just - Dorian, it happened so fast” and “We got split up” and “He pulled me out of the river, but then the undertow” and..._

_Dorian pulls away then, because this isn't happening. This. Isn't. Happening._

“I'm fine, Varric. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Sparkler, it's been a week, and you haven't said anything. We're all kinda worried. Fine, pull up your shoulders. You've got friends here if you need to talk, all I'm saying.”

“Whatever would I need to talk about?”

“Sparkler...”

Dorian leaves the library then, although he really shouldn't have to. This is his space, even if he does have to share it with a few dozen mages and tranquil. Solas doesn't count.

But if he hears one more person offering their condolences, he is going to scream.

He faintly hears Varric sighing and muttering to himself about prickly mages and denial, but ignores it. Everything is fine, and Dorian is **not** in denial.

~

One week ago, two, three, four. Perhaps five? It's not important. Dorian remembers how it felt, how he felt, pressed up against Bull's side.

_“Mmmm... yes, that was nice.” Dorian closes his eyes, stretches his arms out behind him. Nothing like a good, hard round of sex or three with Bull to ease the tensions of a long day. Not that he'll ever tell the lout. Wouldn't want him to get a big head._

_“Meet your standards, did it?” Bull laughs, and Dorian can feel one huge hand stroking up and down his side. A kiss of rough, scarred lips to his disheveled hair follows, at which Dorian can only sigh._

_“Must you?”_

_“Mm.” Bull grunts, and Dorian opens his eyes to look at him. Bull looks back, his one eye half closed. “You love it.”_

_“Shush. I'll hear no such lies.” Dorian leans up to kiss him none the less, and times passes by as they feel each other over in the dim candle light._

_Neither is up for more tonight, and they both know it. Still, there's something to be said for lazy kisses between... whatever they are._

_“Still worrying about me?” Bull asks when they settle down for the night, Dorian once more tucked up against him. Or rather, half on him. He can't help it, the man's practically a furnace and this castle is oh so cold. Bull doesn't seem to mind._

_“I am not worried. I just think our dear Miya is being foolish. Anything Solas can do, I can do better.” He sniffs then, and squirms until he's fully laying on Bull's chest. “Taking Vivienne along I can understand, even if she is dreadfully wrong about some things, but really. Leaving me behind? One would think she's mad at me.”_

_“It's not that. She's just worried about this ruin in Emprise du Lion, you know that.”_

_Yes, Dorian knows. He can even make sense of taking Solas, the scouts had said it looked Elven in nature. Maker knows the man is their best resource on that. But taking Vivienne as well and leaving him behind? Surely Miya's punishing him._

_“And I'm going because she needs muscle. Cassandra's still got a sprained ankle to deal with, and Blackwell... well.” Bull continues on, then pauses._

_Ah, yes. They both know how Miya still feels betrayed by the fake warden. She might've offered him mercy, but it'll be awhile before she wants him at her back again._

_“You know, it's kinda cute how worried you are about me.”_

_“I am not worried.” Dorian sniffs again, and twists a lock of hair between his fingers. Not nervously, because he isn't nervous. Or worried, despite how positively gleeful Bull seems by the prospect._

_Dorian sighs. “Whatever. Just be careful, would you?”_

_“One would almost think you care about me.”_

_The room goes still, or at least that's how it feels to Dorian. Bull seems to sense he's said the wrong thing, because he sits up, taking Dorian with him as he wraps his arms around the other man._

_“Hey, I didn't mean anything by it.” Bull rubs a soothing hand down Dorian's back, and when Dorian looks up at him he can tell the smile on his face is fake._

_He might've been a liar for the Qun, but Dorian can see right through him._

_“...Well, you were correct. I do care about you. I... I don't know what this is, but we're fooling ourselves if we say it's still 'just sex', aren't we?” Dorian holds Bull's gaze for a few moments, then raises his chin. “And I am not a fool.”_

_He kisses him then, and..._

One week ago, two weeks, three? Maybe it was four or five. That's not the important part. What is important is this: Bull had said he'd be fine. He'd see Dorian in a few weeks, maybe a month. Don't be such a worrywart, Kadan.

Dorian wonders what that word means. He'll have to ask Bull when he gets back. Strange that he still isn't.

~

Miya's hugging him again. It's the strangest thing, how she keeps wrapping her arms around him every time she sees him. They used to talk about the state of the inquisition and her library when she visited him, or, if they met in the tavern, their fathers. What it was like growing up Vashoth, and what it was like growing up Alti.

And sometimes, after a drink or two, she'd wrap an arm around his shoulders and squeeze, but never this... overt affection.

Dorian feels like he should be irritated, but he can't bring himself to care.

“Look... Just take all the time you need, okay?”

“For what?”

Miya looks at him now, biting her lip. Then she nods, expression turning stern if a bit worried.

“To... whatever, really. Mourn? Get angry? I don't care, just. Something, please, Dorian. Look, you won't even talk about it.”

“Because there's nothing to talk about.” Bull will be back, he will.

“...Okay Dorian.” Miya sighs, runs a hand over her face, stopping when it rests on her brow. She takes a deep breath and steps back to look at him for a moment before continuing. “I'm worried about you – don't frown, you're not handling this well. You won't talk to me, you won't talk to anyone. You don't even bitch with Vivienne or complain to Josie anymore....”

Miya sniffles then, her brown face screwing up with greif and a little guilt. As if it's wrong that she still has her love, while Dorian doesn't. But that's a strange thought for Dorian to have, as Bull is going to come back. They never saw him die, there was no body.

Bull's not so weak a blighter river could kill him.

Not that Dorian cares. What they had – have, have, have; is just sex. He certainly doesn't feel any affection for the bastard. 

Even if Bull had died, Dorian wouldn't mourn him. 

Oh, Miya's speaking again. He may feel numb, but it wouldn't do to ignore her.

“...So that's why I'm going to leave you behind for awhile. It's not forever! Just... until you deal with what happened.” Miya lets out a wet sounding laugh, and reaches up to rub at her eyes. “Even if you feal by abusing my books again. I'll clap and cheer if you do... Please, Dorian... I miss you.”

Dorian says nothing, only shrugs and goes back to his books. He's read this page ten times now, but the words don't seem to stay in his brain. Distressing...

~

The next month passes slowly, the only good thing about it being the flood of well wishers slowing to a steady stream, and then a trickle. Dorian has almost missed his social pariah hood, and is grateful to get back to it.

Miya still leaves him behind when she goes out with a party. Dorian doesn't mind as much as he probably should. He turns his attentions elsewhere; Corypheus's true name won't find itself.

Only the inner circle attempts to get him to talk now. 

Varric makes him one of his daily stops, though he doesn't try for more then ten, twenty minutes before throwing up his hands and saying “Fine, be that way, Sparkler.” 

Cassandra makes it a habit to check up on him every time she's in Skyhold, as she's pretty much the only warrior Miya will take out now. She doesn't do much, just offers a companionable silence while she sits and reads her filth. Now and again she gets him to talk about what book he's reading, when he isn't researching. It's... something.

Vivienne is almost kind to him, and isn't that frightening. She tells him he drinks too much yet leaves imported wines and spirits from his home country on his desk. Scolds him for his attention to fashion yet has her personal tailor outfit him with a new cloak, as it's getting colder at night.

Dorian doesn't need their care, but he has to admit... it is nice, to not be so alone.

~

By the start of month two, it hits Dorian. Bull's not coming back.

Not all at once, no. It comes it fits and burst. Thoughts of 'Bull would like this passage' here, a sense memory of Bull taking a long drink of cocoa after he gets a whiff of something sweet there. Then Dorian's filled with... loss. Anger follows.

How dare Bull? How dare he worm his way into Dorian's bed and Dorian's heart and then subject him to this? How dare he not storm through the castle's gates, right this instant, and laugh at them all for worrying, for thinking him dead?

Anger is easier then apathy. But it's still not enough not calm his sorrows. No, but alcohol will do that, so Dorian makes his way to the tavern one dark night.

He's been avoiding it as he always does when Bull's gone on without him. It wasn't a conscious habit of his. It's more... it feels like intruding. Like the whole space belonged, belongs to Bull. Oh, logically Dorian knows Bull's room is upstairs, but...

And a thought crosses his mind then, stilling his steps. He has to lean on the outside wall of the tavern, it comes up in a rush. What has happened to Bull's room? To Bull's things?

He doesn't hear Bull's laughter inside. He never will again.

Dorian forces himself to breathe. It's better then throwing up. Or crying.

What happened to the pink dragon patterned pillow he got Bull as a joke? Has it been thrown out because Dorian... because he hasn't been able to admit to himself Bull's not coming back... 

What about Bull's clothes? Bull has no need of them anymore, and truthfully neither does Dorian, but... He used to sneak up there sometimes, if Bull had been gone too long and Dorian felt so very alone. The mans pant's are big enough to wrap around him like a blanket. If an unfashionable one.

Who sleeps up there now? Do they know, do they realize they will **never** belong in that room? Not like Bull does... did. 

Maker he needs a drink. So Dorian pushes himself away from the wall, and heads inside. The conversation stops for a moment when he enters, and he has to force himself not to meet the pitying stares.

He doesn't recall going to the counter, or ordering. He vaguely realizes his hand is wrapped around the handle of a mug of ale, and then another person's hand is on his shoulder. Dorian looks up. 

It's Krem. Dorian feels the need to pull away, to insist he's fine, but Krem doesn't look pitying. There's sorrow on his face, yes, but not pity. It's more of a commiserating look.

“C'mon. You're not sitting and drinking alone.” Krem nods towards the back, towards... towards Bull's chair. Dorian makes himself look.

It becomes fully real then. The emptiness of the chair, still sitting out in the middle of the room, with an ax propped up next to it like a grave marker, is impossible to ignore. Krem's talking to him, but Dorian can't make out the words. Everything is too hot, then too cold and he can't see or breathe for the way his eyes and face sting.

He does however register Krem dragging him along to the assembled chargers. Bull's core group is still there, as are a remarkable amount of familiar faces. It's strange. Dorian hadn't realized how many of their names he knew.

He's not surprised to see Rocky, Skinner, Dalish, Grim, Stitches, and of course Krem. But there's also Striker and Hopper and Three eyes and Ice and so many more Dorian's head spins. All of their names have a story, and Bull had taken glee in explaining each and every one.

There's the dwarf with a limp and a scowl perpetually on her face, so of course she's Buttercup. There's the elf who specializes in the fire school of magic, so Bull couldn't resist naming her Hotshot. 

_“You're not a charger, but you'll get a name too, don't worry.”_ Bull had practically promised him.

Dorian wonders if Kadan was his name from Bull, but he'll never get to ask why he chose it now.

The Chargers make him feel if not welcome, at least less alone. Alcohol passes freely between them, and they glare at people who get too close.

Questions fill his mind that he doesn't ask. Why are they all still here, when Bull was the one who led them? Nor does he ask why they're being so accommodating, when he's ignored them for nigh on three months now.

It's getting hard to think, alcohol muffling everything. Dorian vaguely feels someone lift him by his shoulders, while someone else gets his legs, but he doesn't question it.

“C'mon Pavus, time for bed. Ugh, how'd Bull put up with your heavy ass? Thanks, Grim – set him on the bed.”

Muzzy, muffled, hard to think - The shuffle of footsteps, the close of a door. Warm blankets which feel right but smell wrong, no longer bull's scent covering them but another's. They've been washed with something spicy, not the floral soap Bull loves so, so much. 

Someone's stroking his hair. “...Can see why he loved you.” 

A sigh. “I'll let you take the bed tonight, Princess, on account of you being a grieving widower an' all. ...I miss him to.” 

~

The next day sees Dorian wake in confusion at first. His clothes are tight around him, buckles and straps almost like a noose, digging into his skin. He's both cold from where his head peeks out from under the heavy blankets, as well as hot and sticky from where he's sweat through his robes. 

He dreads to think of how he must look. But that worry fades surprisingly fast when he acknowledges the pounding in his skull.

“Vishante...” 

“Kaffas? Yeah, I agree.” Someone groans from the other side of the room. It's in the direction of the plush chair Josephine had requisitioned for Bull after Dorian had made some less then polite inquiries, but Dorian doesn't hold any hope.

The heavy weight of acceptance sits on his chest. Besides, the voice is all wrong. 

Memories of last night come back to him as he sits up, pushing the blankets to the side. Surely he couldn't have drank that much? The pressure in his bladder disagrees with him, and Dorian pulls himself onto shaking feet to make his way to the door. 

Or at least he tries, until he makes it halfway and trips over his own feet. Krem laughs at him, and Dorian would glare if not for the groan which follows. Seems Krem had a little too much as well. That makes Dorian laugh himself, which promptly bites him the ass as the sound is much too loud in the early morning air.

Make that early afternoon air, from the way the sun shines paindfully in his eyes as Dorian pulls himself to his feet.

“Chamber pot's in the corner.” The look Dorian gives Krem must be something else, because Krem just sighs and continues on. “Look, d'ya really want to try stairs right now? Gave you my bed, may as well let you use that, to. We're all men here.”

The last part is said almost like a challenge, and Dorian can't blame Krem for it. Not with how he's out of his armor and in a simple, loose shirt, no bindings that Dorian can see. Dorian shrugs. If Krem can be at ease with Dorian seeing him sans armor, Dorian can deal with Krem seeing his dick.

Once his bladders thankfully empty, he tucks himself back into his pants and finds a chair to sit on. The room's changed from how he'd left it last. The furniture is spread about in the same way, but Krem's things are strewn about in a sort of organized chaos. 

Bull's weapons, clothing, and various knickknacks are piled in a corner with the utmost care, as if Krem can't make himself pack them away. Dorian knows the feeling all too well.

Despite the changes Bulls presence is so deeply ingrained in the room that Dorian has to force himself not to look at the door expecting him to come in with a laugh. To tell them both it was a nice prank but he wants his room back, now. 

“Didn't want to move in.” Krem sighs, and when Dorian glances over he can tell he means it. “Kept hoping that Bull... That the Chief would find a way back, you know? Great horned bastard's gotten out of tough spots before.”

“And there was no body.” Dorian nods. He reaches up to brush his limp hair out of his eyes, or maybe to hide how he rubs at them. Dorian's not really sure why he's pretending he's not on the verge of tears.

“Right? But... time passed, and he would've sent word if he made it out. He wouldn't just let us sit and stew. So... I'm his second, or I was, and... This whole Inquisition thing was my idea.”

“Yes.” Dorian chuckles, and lets the tears fall. “I gathered as much from our trip in the fade. Bull muttered about it shortly after we woke up there.”

Krem doesn't talk while Dorian cries, nor does he offer comfort beyond tossing him a clean scrap of cloth to use as a handkerchief. Finally, his tears slow enough that he can breathe. His head hurts even worse then before, and he gratefully accepts a pitcher of water from Krem. He doesn't bother with a glass, just drinks the whole thing in gulps.

“Chargers all mourned for a week, then hoped for a month...” Krem continues on with another sigh, shaking his head. “But eventually, we had to talk. Break up? Find a new leader? …Took awhile to sort out, but we're all staying. At least until this mess with Corypheus is over. After that...” Krem shrugs.

Dorian nods in understanding. “And the room?”

“Ah. Rather bed with the rest of the men, but it feels like this place should stay with the Chargers. At least while we're here.”

“...Bull would be proud of you.”

“An' he'd be worried about you. Shit, Pavus, we're not close but all of us could see how much he loved you. Makes you a friend of the Chargers, at the very least.” Krem reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. “Look, if you ever go back to Tevinter, you can call on us any time. I'll even give you a discount.”

Dorian's touched at first, so touched he finds himself choking up for a different reason then the loss of Bull. Then he squints over at Krem, reality setting in. “Aren't you technically a wanted man in Tevinter?”

“Details.” Krem says with a shrug as he slips down to sit next to Dorian. “We'll work it out if it comes to it.”

They sit in surprisingly companionable silence for awhile. The both of them stink of sweat and ale, tinged with the salt of tears and snot. Dorian wont draw attention to it, but he knows he's not the only one with red eyes. Eventually, he lets out a chuckle. It's a wet, sad little sound.

“What are we going to do without him?”

Krem looks over at him; slings an arm around him to draw him near. It's a friendly gesture, one that feels a bit awkward. After all, as Krem has said, they are not that close. But Dorian doesn't want to pull away. 

Krem is part of Bull's strange little family, and the only tie to him Dorian has left.

“We live...” Krem speaks after awhile. His voice is tight with tears, and he has to cough before he continues on. “We fight on, save the damn world. Drink to his memory.”

Dorian nods for a moment then shoots Krem a sly smile. “Just maybe not tonight.”

“Andraste's tits no. I'm never touching alcohol again in my life.”

“Much as it pains me to admit it, I feel the same.”

~

Living in loss is harder than living in denial and apathy, but they do it. Dorian begins his days much the same as before, but perhaps stays a shorter time in bed. Most of his daylight hours are spent deep in research. But this time he's actually managing to find things, which he passes along to Miya when she stops by.

From the thoughtful looks she gives him, he figures he won't be benched much longer. It's with that in mind that Dorian makes his way down to the practice field. Some of the inquisition scouts are sparring in the ring, and he nods to them as he passes by. To his surprise, they nod back, some even smiling.

He wishes Bull was here to see how accepted he is now. The thought hurts, but not as much as it would've a few days ago. Shaking away his thoughts, Dorian continues on to the training dummies. Once there, he leans against a tree to watch.

Krem looks up at Dorian's approach, but only for a moment. He's too busy barking out orders to focus on his fellow Vint. 

“No, no, no! Skinner, pull that move out in the field, we're down a charger. Do it again. Rocky! What have I said about bombs in skyhold?! You want to test them, you do it out of the keep or visit Sera's dwarf down in the undercroft – oh shit there he goes.” Krem turns to shake his head at Dorian. “Had to put the idea in his head, didn't I?”

Dorian smiles back at him and shrugs. “He would've gone sooner or later. Last I heard, she was working on explosive ruins, and you know Rocky can't resist a good blow up.”

They both chuckle at that. The air between them feels easier than before, and Dorian watches as Krem continues his impression of Bull giving orders. It's not quite the same, it never will be, but Dorian takes comfort in it.

“...Krem.” Dorian reaches over for one of the practice staves and makes a mental note to bring his own tomorrow. “Do you mind if I train with you? I'm afraid I've gotten rusty over the past three months.”

Krem starts, eyes bugging out for a moment before nodding. A grin spreads slowly over his face as he reaches for a battered sword and shield. “Best three out of five?”

“Oh, I'll have you beaten before you know it.”

“We'll see about that.” Krem raises his shield and turns towards him. 

Before Dorian knows what to think he's on the ground, winded. Krem laughs, but not for long, as his feet slip out from under him at the ice spell Dorian casts. They glare at each other before grinning.

“I must admit I'm not sure if this counts as my win or yours.”

“Eh, call it a tie.” Krem rolls to the side and pulls himself up. He helps Dorian to his feet and they're off once more.

~

This newest routine is easy to slip into, as much as Dorian doesn't want to admit it. Mid morning to Mid afternoon he spends researching, with actual breaks for food away from the library. It's easier to talk to the others now than it used to be. Stiff though the conversation may be with some of them, but that passes easy enough.

He puts his work away as the sun gets lower in the sky, and heads out to train with the Chargers. Sometime around week two a new variable is introduced; Krem slinging an arm around one of his shoulders, Dalish the other, and the two of them dragging him off to drink and eat at the tavern.

The second time it happens Dorian doesn't even fight it. He'd been befriending them before loosing Bull and he's never enjoyed being alone, not really. Despite his claims to pariah hood, it's far more comforting to be around people who understand, and maybe even like him a little.

Maybe Dorian even likes them a little back. It's certainly entertaining to hear Bull's stories told by someone else.

“Really, He didn't even know your name when he saved you? He left that part out when he told the story to me.”

“Ah, I'm not surprised.” Krem snorts, taking a deep drink from his mug before continuing on. “The Chief always had a habit of downplaying his accomplishments.”

Dorian opens his mouth to argue that point, remembering many times when Bull bragged. Especially in bed. Krem just raises his brows however, so Dorian doesn't say a thing.

“I mean about the personal shit, you know? Saving us.” Krem shrugs. “Saving you to, in a way.”

“Yes...” Dorian sighs, and clinks his mug against Krems. “I suppose in a way, he did.” 

They keep talking, others joining in. Tales of The Iron Bull ring out through the air, told by any who wish to speak. Not all of the chargers are there, some are out on a training exercise with Grim leading them, but enough that the tavern is as loud as the old days. 

Dorian wonders if this is how his life will be lived from now on. The days before Bull, and after. It hurts, reminding him of how he used to count his past as 'Before my father tried to change me' and then after. But... it's alright. At least Bull didn't leave through any fault of his own.

Better to focus on the stories of happy times.

Even a few non-chargers join in: Scout Harding, mentioning how he loved mayhem. Cabot, telling the tale of how he drank nearly a quarter of his stock one time, and the groans he heard from upstairs the next morning. 

Sera, with Dagna on her lap, talking in turns. It's so disgustingly domestic Dorian feels wistful. 

“It hurts, but it's not knives, tearing into your belly, into your lungs. Couldn't breathe, couldn't feel, couldn't think.” Cole appears, popping into existence on the table in front of them. 

Sera shrieks and throws her mug at him, which Cole dodges with a hurt look. 

“Not anymore.” Dorian catches the mug with a bit of magic, levitating it over in front of him. He uses it to top off his own drink; no use letting good alcohol go to waste. “I haven't seen you in awhile, Cole. It's... good to see you.”

He means it, to. For awhile after Bull's death and Dorian's subsequent denial, the spirit boy would pop up everywhere, trying to heal the hurt. Then one day he just disappeared, much to the dismay of Miya.

Dorian's a bit ashamed to admit he had been relieved not to be poked and prodded anymore.

“It's alright. Bull told me I was going about it wrong. Like glass shards, cutting open, when I should have been stitches, sewing shut. But Stitches is a person.” 

“Bull told you, did he?” Dorian sighs, leaning back in his chair. He's heard Cole's 'hearts connected' spiel before, been subjected to it himself. He's starting to regret being glad the little spirit came back, unsure he's ready to hear Bull's dying thoughts.

“Cold, ice on my fingers, cutting in. Like whips, inside. Can't breathe, is the boss alright? She'll make it, she's tough. Fuck, the boys – they'll be fine. Krem's ready. Got through the blasted Storm Coast alright, he can handle leading them. Oh, Kadan... Dorian, I wish I'd told you-” Cole voice turns deep as he mimics Iron Bull, and everyone goes quiet as they listen in stunned silence.

Everyone, that is, except Sera. “Shut it, You! Just got magey farts back, don't – you're hurting him, you tit!”

“But I have to – You have to listen. I'm sorry, it took me so long to find him. He went quiet, hurting, lost, everything pain. Couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't -”

“I think I can take it from here, kiddo.” 

As one, everyone looks at the open door of the tavern. Iron Bull looks back. He's wearing a heavy furred cloak over his shoulders, as well as mismatched pants stitched together from various bits of cloth – stripes here, polka dots there. A vast array of new and still healing scars decorate his chest, and his signature eye patch has been swapped out for a black cloth tied sideways around his head.

“Shit. Who died?” Bull grins as he step into the room, leaning heavily on a sturdy wooden cane. “Better not think it's me – C'mon guys. Like a little river could take me down.”

Bull lets out a big, booming laugh, which is promptly drowned in the cries of “Chief!” “Bull!” and “You absolute ass!” that follow. 

Everyone seems to want to talk to him, crowding around him in droves. From his seat Dorian can hear him telling of how he'd nearly drowned, then some dwarves had found him washed up on the side of the river. He'd been beaten to shit by the rocks and caught some sickness of the lungs, only coming to awhile back. Shit, Krem, you know he'd have sent word but he only just realized how much time had passed a week ago, when Cole found him.

Dorian... stands up. He walks by them, ignoring the crowd as they demand more and more. He heads out of the tavern by himself.

Everything is cold again.

~

“I thought you'd be happy.” Cole appears by him once he's in his room.

“I don't know what I am...” Dorian looks down at his hands. Ah, he's still trying to get his boots off. Strange how he's been doing that for what feels like hours. His fingers keep getting caught in the buckles and snaps, as if swollen by a bee sting.

“Or cold, numb. But I should be happy. He's back, he's alive, why am I -”

“Cole. Out of my mind. And out of my room.” Dorian snaps, voice chill as frost.

Cole thankfully obeys. But he isn't left to his own thoughts for long, a heavy knock sounding on the door moments later. Followed by Bull's muffled voice. “Hey... Can I come in?”

Strange how he sounds almost hesitant. Dorian shrugs, still struggling with his boots. Then it occurs to him Bull can't see the action, and he must call out some affirmation because the next thing he knows, Bull is there in front of him.

Bull watches him, his one eye sad as he sits down on the bed. It's not as big as his own, so they're side by side as Bull reaches over to pull Dorian's legs into his lap. Dorian says nothing as Bull works the buckles off his boots.

“Hey...” Bull says after he's got Dorian's boots off. “I don't know what I did, but I'm guessing I fucked up somehow.”

“You... don't know what you did?” Dorian starts, anger filling him like a rising fire. Suddenly everything is in sharp focus as he growls, launching himself at Bull's chest to beat his fists against his skin.

“What you did? What you did?! You – You! I knew you wouldn't give up on life like that” _I knew you wouldn't give up on me_ remains unsaid “I knew you had to be alright. Everyone else accepted your death, but I didn't. Then, when I finally admit to myself you're not coming back – coming back to **me** , you just show up like everything's okay and we can go back to how things were!”

Oh, joy. Dorian's crying. He hates crying in front of the Bull. It's somewhat excusable after a round of intense play with the man, when they're both so careful and gentle with the other. But this? This is different, raw and real and fuck Bull's leaning down to kiss at Dorian's brow.

“Can't we?” Bull lays back onto the bed, his arms wrapping around Dorian's back to take him with. Then bed groans under their combined weight as Bull settles the blankets over them both. He keeps kissing Dorian's brow, then his cheeks, wiping away tears. Then finally his lips.

And maker help him, Dorian can't help but kiss back. He has so missed Bull. 

“I'm still angry at you.” His voice is wet with tears, but he feels he has to say this between desperate kisses. “Terribly so, I'm afraid.”

“Only you could get pissed at me for dying.” Bull laughs against his lips, then takes them into a sweet, gentle kiss as he rubs a scarred palm up and down Dorian's back.

“Yes, well. It's your fault. Maker, what were you thinking?”

“Mostly I was doing my job. Then, not much of anything... when I finally realized where I was, who I was, I was in too much pain to really do anything. Wanted to, yeah. ...Alright, Cole found me about a week back...” Bull shrugs, sheepish. “I convinced him not to say anything. Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What a surprise. I do so love gifts that make me cry.”

“Aha... wasn't my best plan, yeah. Blame the hits on the head I got in the river. My skull still feels soft.”

Dorian reaches up to run glowing hands against Bull's scalp at that, worry filling him. Bull startles a bit, like he always does when Dorian uses magic on him, but he goes still soon enough. Not a fearful sort of still either, no, it's more of a calm acceptance.

If Dorian was more sentimental, he might even say the look in Bull's eye is loving. 

“I'm not very good at healing magic, but to be a mortalitasi one must know something about how the body works.” Dorian pulls his hands away, frowning. “Your dwarven rescuers did a good job. There's some new scars, but for the most part, you're whole. Except for...”

Dorian runs a hand over Bull's right horn. He didn't notice earlier in the tavern, but it's snapped off just past the bend.

“Ah, yeah. Bound to happen sooner or later.” Bull smiles softly up at him and offers another shrug. “Kadan, look... I'm sorry for making you worry. I'm sorry I didn't send Cole back to Skyhold the minute he popped in my bed – scared the shit out of the dwarves – to tell you all I was alive. …If you really want me to leave, I will. But I'm hoping you don't. I think we're pretty good for each other.”

“Yes...” Dorian sniffs, telling himself it's a haughty one and not wrought with emotion “I suppose we are. So, what do you think – a false golden tip, maybe? For your horn. Dagna owes me.”

“Mmm. Prefer dawnstone.”

Dorian sighs. “What if I get her to put pink gemstones on it, will that suffice?”

Bull just grins at him. 

“By the way, I wanted to ask. What does Kadan mean?”

~

They spend the night doing no more then kissing, hands wandering each others bodies to see what has changed. Iron Bull swears he's fine, but Dorian counts an alarming number of new scars; as well as still healing bumps and contusions. There's a rattle in Bull's lungs he doesn't like, and he didn't miss the cane he leaned upon earlier.

Bull assures him that's only temporary, though he probably need one full time later in his life. “Damn rocks tore up my brace is all. More worried about you.”

Which is sweet, but unneeded. Still, Dorian humors Bull and lets him draw callused fingers over his ribs and eyes, ignoring the sympathetic hisses he hears.

They fall asleep together, and spend the next morning relearning each others bodies in a different, more carnal way. They do have to leave Dorian's bed sometime in the afternoon for food, and to check in with everyone.

Or rather, everyone checks in on them as they eat in the main hall. 

“Glad to see you're back, Tiny. Sparkler here was lost without you.”

“Shush, Varric. I...” Was not fine, not really. So Dorian lets the sentence hang.

“Mmm.” Bull runs a hand over Dorian's hair, messing it up into spikes. His lips quirk into a smile at Dorian allowing him such, as they should. But he doesn't sat anything more.

Bull leaves him after, with a promise to meet up in the rest later. Dorian's loathe to leave him, but he understands. After all “Can't let the boys wait any longer.”

Indeed.

~

“So... I was going to ask you to come along with me tomorrow. I'm heading out to the Forbidden Oasis, I've got more shards, maybe we can open up the final door now... But I'm guessing you want to stay here this time?” Miya's voice is half laugh, half relief when she finds him in the library later.

“If you wouldn't mind.” Dorian smiles back at her, and passes her a book of poems. “Here. To make up for my foul mood as of late.”

“What's this?” Miya blinks at the gift.

“Poems for your lady love. I might have overheard her and Varric discussing authors earlier, in the hall.” Dorian shrugs. “You were dealing with the dignitaries from Orlais.”

“...I've really missed you, you know.” Miya hugs him tight, then steps back to wipe her eyes. “Okay! I've decided. Next time, I'll take you, Sera, and Bull out. No excuses.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.” Dorian grins as he watches her go. She really is a good kid, and has grown into her role well.

Even if he was annoyed with her decision to let him mourn at first, he now realizes it was the right one. Not that he'll ever tell her.

~

“Hey, Kadan! Glad you could join us.” Bull pats his lap when Dorian enters the tavern that night. Dorian rolls his eyes, but humors him and takes a seat on his knee. The good one, remembering what Bull had told him about losing his brace.

“Everything go alright with your boys?” Dorian steals Bull's drink, which makes Bull laugh and call to Cabot for another.

“Yeah. Hey, did you know Krem took my room? Little shit's moving out tomorrow, so... Want a repeat of last night? Know your bed's a bit crowded, but. Well.”

“If you insist.” 

Bull doesn't, but they both smile at each other in understanding. Krem snorts at them from across the way, shaking his head.

“You've been back one day. One. Day. And already the two of you are subjecting us all to your lovely dovey crap.” Krem mutters, but he grins at Dorian to show that he's only playing. 

Dorian grins back, but Bull reaches over to swat at Krem. “Hey! Show some respect!”

“To you? Ha! I'll show you respect when a river doesn't kick your fat arse.”

“Okay that's it. Clearly I've been too easy on you. Come tomorrow, no more Mister Softy. In fact-” Bull turns to address the rest of the Chargers, who seem to gather around him like kittens to a mama cat now that he's returned from the dead. “That goes for the rest of you to! Bright and early, the training grounds.”

“Oh, I'll have to be sure and see this.” Dorian takes another drink, pride clear on his face. “They're going to kick your ass.”

“That right?” Bull folds his arms over his chest, lip sticking out the slightest bit.

“Don't pout.” Dorian leans up to kiss him, uncaring of the crowd watching them. “It's just – I've been training with them. I have the utmost faith in their abilities. I imagine they can even entertain at tea now.”

“Mmm, might have to arrange that.”

Dorian kisses him again, and reaches up to stroke the side of Bull's face. 

“You do that. They're stilling going to kick your ass tomorrow.”

“Not if I have you on my side.” Bull winks at him.

“Oh, and why would I help you?” 

“Aw, c'mon. Take pity on the injured.”

“Oh, very well. But just this once.”

The chargers groan around them as they kiss once more. Is it twice now, three times? He's lost count, and knows somewhere inside him he should hide this. But yet... no. Dorian doesn't care. 

This isn't Tevinter, he can kiss his Amatus as he pleases. So he gives him one more kiss, then another. Krem tells them to get a room, which is an excellent idea.

Krem shouts at them that he didn't mean his room as Bull carries Dorian up the stairs, but they ignore him. He can get his things tomorrow, tonight Bull gets his bed back. Despite the plans to the contrary they had made earlier.

It's closer.


End file.
